


Only Lovers See The Fall

by mousecookie



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pining, a brief moment of claustrophobia (quickly remedied), the inherent melancholy of autumn, this will mostly just rot your teeth, wizards flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27380689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mousecookie/pseuds/mousecookie
Summary: After traveling with the Mighty Nein for half a year, Essek experiences his first Harvest Close festival in Zadash.Or: Autumn is the time for endings.  Essek finds a new beginning in Caleb Widogast.
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 33
Kudos: 298





	Only Lovers See The Fall

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a distraction. It was intended to be a silly "lol Essek eats a caramel apple in an accidentally suggestive manner" type of fic, but then I realized the autumn trees in the Empire would look like the Vermaloc, and Essek decided to get maudlin about it. Still mostly fluff, though! Also, since there's a small time skip from current canon here, I hand-waved that Caleb's conflict with Ikithon has been resolved (vaguely and off screen, but just between you and me, _he dead)._

Six months adventuring with the Mighty Nein passed both faster and slower than Essek expected. 

Faster, because he’d expected it would take a long time to adjust to life on the road, in close company with others, fighting for hire - but Essek took to it like a bird to the sky, and the days whipped past like the wind. 

Slower, when he considered the sheer amount of trouble they’d gotten into. More battles than Essek had been part of in _decades,_ all in a handful of months. It was also the longest that Essek had ever been away from Rosohna. It was strange how after more than 120 years of life, six months could feel like a long separation. 

Time passed and the Imperial summer’s green caught fire with autumn. The warm colors of the leaves reminded him sharply of the Vermaloc, and of Rosohna. The feeling settled like an ache in his chest that he couldn’t quite soothe away, and he wasn’t sure why. Essek didn’t miss his old life. He didn’t particularly miss anyone in it. Traveling with the Mighty Nein was unequivocally the best thing to have ever happened to him. But Rosohna was still where he had come from, and up until the Mighty Nein, the only home he had ever known.

Officially, he was on sabbatical. 

Unofficially, he was waiting for the other shoe to drop regarding his standing with the Bright Queen. It was only a matter of time before Ludinus Da’leth decided he was a liability, and outed him as a traitor to the Dynasty. Until then, though, he was “an emissary to normalize the sight of peaceful drow in the Empire”. Deep irony of that role aside, he was still astonished that the Bright Queen had agreed. The Mighty Nein had made the case for him to the whole court. They were frighteningly persuasive sometimes.

It was for this reason that Essek currently found himself walking the streets of Zadash, in plain view, without a disguise. 

Simple traveler’s garb had replaced his courtly finery. He still got looks - there was no changing that - but the presence of the folk hero Mighty Nein insulated him from any reactions that might be less than friendly. Well, mostly. Today, however, even fewer eyes were on Essek than usual. The city was humming with activity, its people rushing from place to place with parcels and bundles and carts piled high with goods. The very air was thick with excitement.

“Oh my gosh you guys, we’re in time for the Harvest Close Festival!” Jester squeaked, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She clapped her hands together. “Okay. Okay okay okay. We HAVE to actually dress up, you guys, and like, go to the festival. Oh my gosh.”

Harvest Close. So that’s what all of this was. Essek was peripherally aware of the Imperial traditions around the changing seasons, but their practice was largely a mystery. 

“A day of rest doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” Caleb agreed, glancing at the rest of them. “What do you say?” 

The afternoon sunlight burnished the wizard’s hair a bright copper. It caught Essek’s eye, as did the tiny, soft smile that emerged when Caleb watched a group of children race by wearing wreaths of dried grain stalks, laughing and shrieking, pelting each other with dried corn. It seemed he was not the only one feeling nostalgic.

“Yasha, remember how you thrashed that guy at arm-wrestling? You could win that again, no problem,” Beau said, lightly thumping Yasha’s thick bicep with her fist.

“That could be fun,” Yasha murmured, looking down at her shoes and smiling. “It was really fun to do that, actually, I remember.”

“Well, I’m not doing the toss-the-bag game again,” Fjord grumbled.

“Oh but you HAVE to,” Jester insisted, batting her eyelashes. “Pl _eeee_ ease, you have to, it was SO funny last time.”

“No,” Fjord said stubbornly. 

“You can decide later,” Jester said.

“I’ve never been to one of these,” Caduceus mused, watching a cart go by. “But I’m liking some of the decor.”

The cart in question was piled high with large, hard-shelled vegetables that Essek didn’t recognize. They took a variety of rounded shapes and colors, some were loudly orange, others mottled red, yellow, and green. He had no idea how they might be prepared and eaten.

“Feels like a tribute to the Wildmother in a way, doesn’t it?” Fjord said, hand drifting to touch the Melora symbol pinned to his cloak. “Celebrating what grew from the earth.”

“Yeah,” Caduceus agreed, and something like pride in his voice as he looked back at Fjord. “It does.” Essek was still not clear on the nature of the paladin and cleric’s relationship with each other, but whatever it was, it seemed warm. Nice. Comforting.

But speaking of relationships he wasn't quite sure about...

“Essek?” Caleb spoke up. “You are the one who is the most noticeable among us. How would you feel about being in the crowds for a day? We can make sure you never find yourself left alone.”

“...I’m not opposed,” Essek said. “But I will take you up on the offer of company.”

“You have it,” Caleb smiled at him. The power of it stole Essek’s thoughts right out of his head, and he smiled helplessly in return.

They were suspended in a moment of simply looking at each other.

“Okay!” Jester chirped, clapping loudly and breaking the spell. Both Caleb and Essek startled. “It’s official, we are going to have the BEST time, you guys.”

A whirlwind of preparations began. In the last six months, Essek had learned one lesson very thoroughly: when Jester Lavorre made up her mind that something was going to happen, it usually did. And sometimes, he just had to hold on and let the current take him where it was going to go. Even if it was mildly terrifying. This is what he reminded himself as Jester appeared in front of him with a pot of gold paint and a smile that could cajole the stars down from the heavens. She wore a butter yellow dress with her shoulders bare, and had outlined her Traveler’s cloak tattoo in gold. It looked twice as magnificent as usual.

“Helloooo, Essek,” she cooed. “Do you want makeup? I have makeup. It’s really pretty. And I’m a super good artist.”

“That you are,” Essek replied, nervously looking around for reassurance from the others. Some of them were sporting gold paint already - Veth had outlined her eye tattoos, and Yasha bore a thin circlet across her brow. Even Fjord sported a painted circlet of golden wheat. Caduceus had opted for painting his nails, no doubt to avoid the hassle of later scrubbing the paint out of his downy-fine fur.

It was all quite subtle and tasteful, actually. Not a dick in sight. It could be fine. “Ah-” he hesitated. “...Maybe?”

“Maybe?” Jester raised her eyebrows. “Or like, _omigosh Jester that’s the best I totally want some?_ Because asking for consent is SUPER important as we ALL know and I want you to know you don’t HAVE to if you don’t WANT to. Even if I will be sad.”

“Somewhere… in the middle?” Essek replied.

“Don’t worry, I can just give you a _lee-tle_ bit,” she said. “It will look _amazing,_ okay?”

“Ah… Okay,” Essek agreed, and Jester’s face bloomed bright with happiness.

“Okay!! Close your eyes! This will only take a moment.”

Essek closed his eyes. It was foolish to trust her with this, maybe, but he’d done far more foolish things since joining the Mighty Nein than having his face painted. There was a tickle of a brush across his eyelids. The paint was cool on his skin.

“There!” Jester said, not too long after. “All done.”

“How do I look?” He asked her.

“Super handsome,” Jester assured him. “Just don’t touch it or it’ll smear, okay?”

Essek nodded. 

“I brought some food,” Caleb announced, arriving from errands with several parcels. Essek noted there was one that looked suspiciously like a ream of paper. “I assumed we may want to eat before we get lost in the festival. The mead here can be quite strong. Essek, I also was able to acquire-- oh.” Caleb stopped short at the sight of Essek. His gaze caressed Essek’s face, tangible as a touch. “Oh, ah... That is a, ah, good look for you, my friend.” He pointed at his own eye, then to Essek, as though Essek might not be aware of the gold paint lining his eyes.

Behind Caleb, Jester grinned and gave Essek a hugely unsubtle thumbs-up. Essek felt his cheeks grow hot.

“Thank you,” Essek replied, wrapping dignity around himself like a cloak. “It is Jester’s fine work.”

“It’s good,” Caleb repeated. He turned to the others in turn. “Oh, look at you all, you are all sparkly. More than usual, anyway.”

“You want to go next?” Jester asked eagerly, pausing from painting her lips gold with the help of the reflective dome of her shield.

“Ah…” Caleb hesitated, but like most of them, he was powerless against Jester’s hopeful glee. “Yes… ah, something small?” 

Soon, Caleb too sported thin lines of gold around his eyes.

“Hm, you’re right,” Essek told Caleb, looking him over just like the wizard had done to him moments prior. “It’s a good look.”

Caleb was already flushed from dashing through the city on errands, but Essek thought he might have gone a little pinker. “I have something for you,” Caleb said instead of answering, rummaging in the parcels. “Here, some spellpaper, from our friend Pumat. It is of excellent quality.”

“Ah, that is very kind,” Essek said, accepting the parcel he’d been right in assuming was paper. “But are you not in need of it yourself?”

“That will not be a problem,” Caleb said, pointing out a _second_ ream of paper among his purchases. “Please, take it. Consider it... a Harvest Close gift.”

“Is that tradition? Should I offer you something in return?” Essek asked.

“Oh, ah, not really? Not-- you don’t have to, no,” Caleb replied, waving a hand. “It is nothing. What is a bit of paper between wizards, hm?”

That was a slightly confusing answer, but there wasn’t time to parse it.

“I will put it to good use,” Essek promised.

“I know you will,” Caleb said.

If Essek thought the common streets of Zadash were busy before the festival, it was nothing compared to during the festival itself. Every space was crammed with people, drinking, eating, performing, playing games, selling and buying wares. It was a happy, buzzing sort of energy, but there was quite a lot of it.

“Is it always like this,” Essek asked Caleb over the din.

“This year is bigger than I remember from two years ago,” Caleb replied, leaning close to be heard. “But mostly, yes.”

“Let’s get some mead,” Beau said, clapping Essek on the back. “Take the edge off for you.”

Mead turned out to be rather pleasant. It was much sweeter than Kryn wine, and stronger, and the taste of it somehow reminded Essek of late afternoons when his sensitive eyes could enjoy some of the light without pain.

“It’s not bad,” he commented, drinking deep.

“Careful, it’s got a kick to it,” Caleb said over the brim of his own tankard.

“I can hold my drink, Widogast,” Essek retorted.

“Yes, I can see you are holding it,” Caleb teased. “It is later after you _drink_ it that I am worried about.”

Essek rolled his eyes. “Then come, show me what this festival is about while I still have my wits about me.”

Caleb led the way into the thick crowd. He was adept at maneuvering through the press of bodies, always finding the gap to slip through at the right time. Essek, however, who had spent most of his life with people making way for him, struggled to keep up. 

The third time Essek lost sight of Caleb, he felt a small jolt of unease, lost in the sea of noise and people. Too loud. Too many. Too _much._ It would be simple to cast a graviturgy spell and soar away from it, but that would be like announcing to the entire city that a Dynasty citizen was in their midst. Essek shouldn’t chance it. If he did, they might attract the wrong attention and have to leave, and it would ruin his friends’ fun.

“There you are,” Caleb said, reappearing somehow at Essek’s elbow. “I thought I lost you. Are you okay? Is it the crowd?” He took in the way Essek was clutching his tankard, his shoulders tense.

“I’m fine,” Essek said.

“Hm,” Caleb frowned, clearly not convinced. “Okay. Well, hold on this time, _ja_?” 

He offered Essek his hand.

Essek, warm for reasons that had nothing to do with his mead, took it.

“ _Das ist besser_ ,” Caleb smiled reassuringly, and then forged into the oppressive crowd once more, this time keeping Essek close behind him. 

After a minute of what felt like being squeezed through a frost wyrm’s innards, something Essek unfortunately had real-world experience to compare with, they broke free from the hoard of people and into a small, much less crowded plaza. Essek immediately breathed more easily. When he recovered his bearings, he saw before him a strange sight: the cobblestone of the plaza was strewn with straw, and an assortment of the hard-shelled vegetables were scattered across it. Children meandered through the space, examining the produce, and sometimes would pick one up and carry it off.

“What is this?” Essek asked, distracted. 

“A pumpkin patch, for the little ones,” Caleb told him. “Look - there is a man accepting coin over there. These pumpkins are all for sale.”

“Pump-kins?” Essek repeated. “Is this how you derived the name of your familiar?” It would make sense, he supposed, both the cat and the vegetable being orange in color.

Caleb laughed. The open delight in his expression was enrapturing. “No! No, actually. The word for these in Zemnian is not ‘pumpkin’. But now that you point it out, the coincidence is a rather funny.” 

Essek wanted to think of something clever to reply, but Caleb still hadn’t let go of his hand. It was currently absorbing most of Essek’s thinking abilities. He took another deep sip of mead to calm his nerves.

“What is done with the pumpkins once they are acquired?” he asked, feeling golden honey burn pleasantly down his throat.

“Some will be carved into lanterns, others baked into pies and pastries,” Caleb replied, sipping from his own tankard. “It is quite good when spiced, and very sweet. You might like it.”

“I think I am still busy with this, but later perhaps,” Essek said.

“Come, come, there’s so much more to see,” Caleb said, and picked his way through the pumpkins across the square. 

The maze of pumpkins was a little harder to navigate than Essek expected. It wasn’t the mead, it really wasn’t - it was because Caleb _still_ hadn’t let go of Essek’s hand, and by all the gods Essek wasn’t going to be the one to let go first. They pushed through another small crowd. Crossed an alleyway.

Then they turned a corner into another plaza, and Essek’s vision filled with crimson leaves. There was a tree in the middle of the plaza - dark wood, with foliage like freshly spilled blood. It was _not_ of the Vermaloc, it wasn’t, but the colors of it slipped into his memories and _squeezed._

He stopped short. Distantly he was aware of Caleb stopping too.

Why was he so affected by the sight of the tree? He didn’t miss Rosohna. He _didn’t_. He had been lonely there. Sure, he had a passing longing for its familiar comforts - his tower, local food, the luxuries of nobility - but when he departed with the Nein, he’d taken his heart with him.

“Essek? What is it?” Caleb’s voice shook Essek from his paralysis.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” he responded automatically. 

Caleb frowned again. “You know, that is the second time you have said you are fine, and this is the second time I don’t believe it.” He let go of Essek’s hand, but only to reach up and brush some wisps of white hair from Essek’s brow. “What is going on in that head of yours, hm?”

Essek’s eyes fluttered shut at the gentle touch. “I don’t know,” he answered, shoulders sagging. “The tree… it reminds me of Rosohna.”

Caleb guided Essek to sit on some stone steps in the courtyard. “You are missing home, then?”

“No,” Essek answered, feeling helpless and frustrated. “I was glad to leave it. I don’t know what I’m feeling.” He was surprised to find how easily he voiced his thoughts, and glared at his tankard of mead. “...You were right, this has a bit of a kick to it.”

Caleb lifted his cup in cheers and took a sip. “Ja, it does. You know, I felt a similar conflict about Rexxentrum, before. I have both happy and unhappy memories there. In some ways, it felt good to return, but foremost in my mind was always the unfinished business that hung over my head. Ikithon. Astrid. Eadwulf. Even with it all over... I still have a shadow of the same tension.”

“That makes sense, I suppose,” Essek said. “Unfinished business. I know I am waiting for the news we expect, about… me. And my standing in the Dynasty. And I know once it happens, I will never be able to go back there. But that shouldn’t make me sad, should it? I like my life now more than I ever have before. Is it foolish to feel sorrow over losing something, when it is not even really something I want?”

A breeze swept through the plaza, chilly, but not enough to conquer the warmth of the mead. Dried leaves on the ground skittered along in the wind like mice scuttling across a pantry floor. A handful of fresh leaves were shaken out of the tree to join them. Caleb reached out and caught one as it sailed past, star-shaped and deep crimson. He twirled the stem between his thumb and forefinger, then handed it to Essek, who took it, curious. It was a perfect match to Vermaloc colors.

“I think that maybe it’s not losing the place,” Caleb said, leaning back on his elbows on the steps. “But instead, the loss of the choice. Right now, you do not miss Rosohna or your old connections. Maybe you won’t for a long time. Or ever, perhaps. But if you do, it will never be so easy as simply returning to it, or to them.”

Essek’s eyes prickled, and he sighed, trying to exhale the feelings out of his lungs. It didn’t work. For the first time in a long time, he thought of Verin. It had been almost two years since they had last spoken - passing jabs over a dinner with the Umavi of Den Thelyss, and nothing more. Most of his recent memories of Verin were of bickering, or arguing, or stony silence. They had not been truly friends since they were children. If Essek showed his face as a known traitor, Verin would probably turn him in on the spot. It wouldn’t matter that Essek was trying to be a better man, that he had found friends, that he was learning to leave places better than he found them. The damage was already done.

He let go of the leaf, which was quickly swept up to join its fellows.

“No,” he agreed, quietly. “I suppose not.”

“That does not mean it is impossible,” Caleb added, leaning to nudge Essek’s shoulder with his own. “Or that there won’t be other choices that fill your heart instead.”

Essek huffed a weak laugh. “You are an optimist, Caleb Widogast.”

“No,” Caleb said. “I am a student of one of the finest practitioners of dunamancy on the continent. And he has taught me quite a lot about possibility.”

“Has he,” Essek said dispassionately. “Is he a good man, this teacher of yours?”

“He is trying to be. And I think that is what matters most.”

Essek swallowed the last gulp of honey wine and pensively rubbed at one of his tired eyes. “You’re only saying that because it applies to you, as well.”

“Ah - you’ve smeared your paint!” Caleb tutted. “Come, let me look at it. Close your eyes.” He took Essek’s face in his hands, easy as anything. He was terrifyingly, tantalizingly close. 

Essek’s breath caught in his chest. He closed his eyes.

Feather-light fingertips brushed at the corner of his left eyelid. “You are right, I want it to mean something that I am trying to be better, too,” Caleb said quietly. “But you know, I think I am right about this, Essek. Whatever judgement we may one day face, it does not have to define us here and now. It does not have to steal all of our choices.” The smudging stopped, but the hands lingered. “There, it is fixed.” 

Essek impulsively covered one of Caleb’s hands with his own, holding it to his face. “Thank you,” he said thickly. Caleb always seems to know what to say to break him open and soothe the fears that hurt him the most.

“Ja, of course,” Caleb said easily. “I can fix your eye paint any time you like.”

Essek released Caleb’s hand and opened his eyes to glare at him, affronted that his gravitas was being ignored, and found that Caleb had a little teasing smile around the corner of his mouth. There was also something else, something… uncertain. Was Caleb nervous? No. It was something else. 

“Thank you,” Essek sniffed, deciding not to push it. “I would hate to walk around looking unfashionable.”

“I am always here for you,” Caleb promised. He reached for his mead tankard, found it almost empty, and drained it. 

Essek noticed then that they were being watched.

Nearby on the stone steps in the courtyard, a human child - Essek had no idea how old - sat looking at him with a doe-eyed, solemn gaze.

Oh no. _Children._ Essek never knew what to do with children, not even those of his fellow drow. A human child? Might as well be a creature from another plane. Luckily, he knew from his travels with the Mighty Nein that Caleb didn’t share the same trepidation. The wizard always seemed to know what to do.

“Caleb,” he hissed quietly. “Look.”

The laugh lines on Caleb’s face creased as he surveyed both the child and Essek’s discomfort. “Come, do some small bit of graviturgy,” he nudged Essek. “Make a few leaves float in the air.”

Essek frowned his skepticism at this plan, but he wanted the child to go away. So he spied some fresh red leaves at the foot of the steps, and called them into the air, then to hover over his hand. He made them dance in a lazy figure-eight, then arrange into a perfect circle.

The child gasped, stared at Essek with wide eyes, then took off at a run.

Essek let the leaves fall with a clench of his fist. “And now the child is terrified, I suppose.”

“Maybe. But she is no doubt also running to tell her friends that she saw _magic_ with her very own eyes.”

“How do you know?”

Caleb shrugged. “It is what I would have done, at that age."

Essek tried to imagine Caleb as a child, round-faced and innocent and in awe of a world much too large. He couldn't. For some reason, he could only imagine Caleb springing forth from the earth as he was now - fully grown, carrying his heavy burdens, but determinedly forging a new self from the remnants of the old. Finding happiness.

Eventually, they left the plaza in favor of looking for spiced pumpkin pastries, games, and something Caleb called a “caramel apple”. Essek took one last look at the crimson tree before they moved out of sight. _I still have choices,_ he told himself, testing out Caleb's words, rolling them around in his thoughts. _Even if they are different than the ones I had before._

“There seems to be no dignified way to eat this,” Essek complained, eyeing what was ostensibly an apple beneath a thick, sticky layer of caramel. 

“No,” Caleb agreed, though it came out more like _“Mnoh”_ because his mouth was full of sweet.

“It is getting in your beard,” Essek informed him, but Caleb shrugged and gave a sticky, lopsided smile. 

Essek surveyed the apple. What was the best line of attack? There didn’t seem to be one. He decided to lick the apple instead.

“You are never going to finish it that way,” Caleb commented before taking another hearty bite.

“Fine,” Essek sighed, and proceeded to make a terrible mess, much to Caleb’s amusement. “I am glad you’re finding this so entertaining,” he sniffed, but it was impossible to be cool and refined with a smear of caramel on the end of his nose, and apple peel stuck in one of his sharp canines. 

Caleb was still smothering a smile as Essek finished and traced the gestures for Prestidigitation to salvage his dignity.

They played a few games, next. Essek was very good at tossing a small bag of beans into a basket some yards away, but only because he was cheating with graviturgy - what the locals didn’t know, didn’t have to hurt them. Unfortunately, Caleb seemed to have cottoned on. He stood close at Essek’s shoulder on his last throw of three. It was distracting, being flanked by Caleb’s warmth, but not an insurmountable challenge. Essek would win three out of three and conquer the game.

But at the precise moment before Essek released the throw, Caleb leaned in and blew across Essek’s ear. 

_Fwip!_ went the bean bag as it shot straight into the sky, up, up, and nearly out of sight.

There was a moment of silence, then a snort of laughter just behind him.

It was Caleb.

Caleb was covering his mouth with his hand, then both hands, laughter still leaking through, tears of mirth at the corners of his eyes. The crowd, a little on edge with the presence of a drow mage, seemed to be soothed by the laughter. Essek himself was transfixed. He'd never seen Caleb laugh so brightly or so openly before. He wanted to trap the vision in a bubble and keep it in his pocket, to examine and cherish whenever darkness crept into his thoughts.

_Thump._

The bean bag came to earth, and to Essek’s mortification, it was a mere few paces from his feet. His face flushed even hotter.

“Ahem. I think that will be all,” Essek said as mildly as he could manage, and nodded to the vendor. “Thank you.”

And then he turned on his heel and strode away, just barely remembering not to float. Caleb wasn’t far behind.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” Caleb told him, voice rough with laughing. “I could not resist.”

“Hm,” Essek said, trying to glare but finding it difficult. Caleb’s joy was contagious, even if it was at Essek’s expense. “Let’s see how you like it when I blow in _your_ ear, next time.”

Caleb's next breath turned into a strangled cough, and Essek counted it as a victory. 

“Should we go back now, then?” Caleb asked. “I think I have some coppers left to play another game.”

“I don’t think I can show my face there for at least a year,” Essek said mildly. “News of my sloppy spellcasting will reach the Dynasty, and _that_ will be what finishes me more than anything else.” It was odd, talking so glibly around his treason, but… it felt good, too. Good, that he had someone he could say the words out loud to, who would understand him.

“You are right, of course.” Caleb said, donning a serious expression, until he caught Essek’s eye in a sideways glance and his lips pursed around a smile again.

“You’re silly when you’ve had a bit to drink,” Essek told him. He wasn't feeling the mead's effects much, any more.

“Oh, I am not usually a happy drunk,” Caleb replied. “Not that I am drunk, right now - I am not, and in fact, if I am being honest, my mood has nothing to do with the mead at all.”

Caleb changed course and drew Essek away from the edge of the crowd, under the boughs of a small ornamental tree with long, drooping boughs and goldenrod-yellow leaves. His expression flickered with the odd hesitance Essek had seen earlier, before settling into determination. 

“When I was saying earlier, about choices we have," Caleb told him. "I admit I am rather invested in a few choices you might make, in particular.”

“Oh?”

Caleb took a breath, and looked at nothing in particular. He _was_ nervous, Essek realized. “For example, did you know, it is considered good luck to kiss your sweetheart at Harvest Close.”

Oh. Well then.

Pieces settled joyfully into place in Essek’s mind. They’d been dancing around each other for ages, spiraling closer, constantly flirting (at least, in Essek’s interpretation it was flirting, though sometimes he wondered if he was just horribly misreading cultural cues). It had seemed only a matter of time before one of them plucked up the initiative to say it plainly. Now, as Caleb had said, Essek did have a choice here, though not the one Caleb likely meant. He could treat the moment seriously, and it would end happily. Or… _or_ … he could do what Caleb had done under the crimson tree, and throw a joke into what should have been a tender moment, and very likely still enjoy the same happy result. Essek was not above being petty.

“A ‘sweetheart’? I’m not familiar with this word in Common.” Essek batted his eyelashes, feigning ignorance, even though his pulse had skyrocketed like he was preparing for a skirmish. 

This answer flustered Caleb, exactly as Essek intended. “ _Was?_ I-- it is someone who… who you care for, and… Essek, you know what I am talking about!”

“Do I?” He stepped closer, grinning, and straightened an imaginary wrinkle in Caleb’s collar. 

“Essek,” Caleb complained, even as he stepped into Essek's space just the same. “You are making this difficult.” 

Essek hummed, leaning in close enough to catch the scent of burnt-sugar caramel on Caleb’s breath. He paused there, relishing the exquisite state of _almost,_ his anticipation sweetened by certainty of what would happen next. The space between them was the tidal pull before the crash of waves. “If I had such a sweetheart, would he like to be kissed?”

Caleb huffed. “Ja, in fact, he would like you to get on with it, actually--”

“Then I would hate to flout local tradition,” Essek replied, and silenced Caleb’s next irate words with his lips.

Caleb sighed, immediately mollified, his hands fluttering like restless birds from Essek’s wrists, to his forearms, and finally settling at his waist. Essek decided that one kiss was not enough, and helped himself to two more, winding his arms around Caleb’s neck. They were completely wrapped up in each other. 

“There is not actually a tradition,” Caleb admitted, lips brushing Essek’s as he spoke.

“Of course there isn’t,” Essek replied, sliding his fingers into Caleb’s hair. “I chose to act, regardless.”

 _“Hey lovebirds!”_ A shout jolted them away from each other, but only enough to look over at who was doing the shouting: Beau, standing at the edge of the nearby crowd of festival-goers, her hands cupped around her mouth. _“We’re headed to the bonfire! Stop sucking face and join us!”_ Then she slipped away as though she was never there. _Monks._

Essek shuffled close to Caleb again, a sharp canine tooth peeking over his lip as he grinned and toyed with a stray lock of Caleb’s copper curls. “Tell me, what is this ‘sucking face’? I am afraid I do not know all these Common sayings--”

Caleb scowled, though his eyes were merry. “If you need a practical demonstration, I am more than happy to provide it... later.”

“Hm. I will hold you to that.”

“I hope so. For now, though - bonfire, I think. Back into the crowd?” Caleb asked, offering his hand.

“Alright, yes,” Essek said, smiling, and took it.

**Author's Note:**

> _Only lovers  
>  see the fall  
> a signal end to endings  
> a gruffish gesture alerting  
> those who will not be alarmed  
> that we begin to stop  
> in order to begin  
> again._
> 
> \--Maya Angelou, _Late October_
> 
> If you would like more Critical Role yelling, come find me on tumblr! I'm [ariadne-mouse](https://ariadne-mouse.tumblr.com/).


End file.
